"You'll go by yourself," she answered. "You'll have to
learn to play like other children does when they haven't
got sisters and brothers. Our Dickon goes off on th'
moor by himself an' plays for hours. That's how he made
friends with th' pony. He's got sheep on th' moor that
knows him, an' birds as comes an' eats out of his hand.
However little there is to eat, he always saves a bit o'
his bread to coax his pets."

It was really this mention of Dickon which made Mary decide
to go out, though she was not aware of it. There would be,
birds outside though there would not be ponies or sheep.
They would be different from the birds in India and it
might amuse her to look at them.

Martha found her coat and hat for her and a pair of stout
little boots and she showed her her way downstairs.

"If tha' goes round that way tha'll come to th' gardens,"
she said, pointing to a gate in a wall of shrubbery.
"There's lots o' flowers in summer-time, but there's
nothin' bloomin' now." She seemed to hesitate a second
before she added, "One of th' gardens is locked up.
No one has been in it for ten years."

"Why?" asked Mary in spite of herself. Here was another
locked door added to the hundred in the strange house.

"Mr. Craven had it shut when his wife died so sudden.